Defensive Wounds
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: "He knows so many things she doesn't want her to team to find out." When the team discovers that a suspect has a history with Ziva, they try to help her through it.
1. The Suspect

_Summary:_ When the team discovers that the suspect on a case has a history with Ziva, she's forced to confront a few things that she's buried, and they try to help her through it. This is a multi-chapter hurt/comfort Ziva-centric fic, but _all_ the team members will get important scenes.

_Pairings:_ None, but lots of team love, if that counts.

_Author's Note:_ Chapter 1 was one of the very last chapters that I wrote, and unfortunately, I still feel it's one of the weakest. So if you don't like what you read here, I do hope you'll go on to the later chapters anyway.

_Disclaimer:_ Oh, and I don't own _NCIS_. Shocking, right?

_For my own reference:_ 26th fanfiction,18th story for_ NCIS._

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<br>The Suspect**

The cops arrived before his team did, because a neighbor got suspicious and called 9-11. But both of them arrived too late. The group was tipped off somehow - or maybe they realized that they weren't keeping the lowest profile - and relocated. Boxes and sparse furniture have been thrown around the tiny living room; they obviously left in a hurry, but they were careful enough to not leave anything behind except a few bits of bomb-making materials - wires and precisely-cut pieces of pipe and other things that could be written off as circumstantial.

_Dammit_, Gibbs thinks, frustrated. His team has pulled Corporal Beason's phone records and e-mails and managed to follow the trail here, to this tiny shotgun house that the terrorist cell had been using as its base. They were sure that they would find some answers here, maybe find out who killed their corporal, but instead the trail has gone cold.

He should've known that finding Beason's killer wouldn't be one of their quick-and-easy cases. The man was a Marine Corporal who'd been selling military secrets to a terrorist cell, for God's sakes. Any number of people might've wanted him dead. Hell, Gibbs felt tempted to kill the man himself, when his team found out what Beason had been up to. In all the years that he'd been working for NCIS, he was hard-pressed to remember when he ever came across a Marine who did such disgrace to the uniform.

He must look frustrated as he glances over the sparse evidence in front of him, because the police officer says, almost as a last thought, "They did leave one other thing behind. In the back." Gibbs waits for him to go on, but he doesn't until he gives him the _spit-it-out_ glare. "One of the cell members is still here. We're not sure why he didn't get away with the others. Found him hiding in the utility closet. Musta thought we would assume the place was deserted and not search it too thoroughly. I got one of my men with him."

If he were on his team, Gibbs would head-smack the cop for not mentioning it right away, but he isn't, so he has to settle for his most withering stare. Tony asks, "And you didn't tell us this sooner because...?" He looks pissed, and Gibbs can tell that on the way back to the Navy Yard, he'll gripe about how he spent years busting his ass as a cop in Baltimore, and now they let idiots like this guy on the force.

They leave Ziva and McGee in charge of canvassing the rest of the house and follow the officer through the house into a narrow back room. The suspect is sitting in a chair against the wall, his hands cuffed together behind his back, with another officer guarding him.

"We haven't been able to find much out from him yet," the head officer tells him and Tony. "He doesn't speak much English. He speaks... well, we're not too sure. It sounds like Arabic. Definitely some desert language."

_Some desert language?_ Gibbs decides not to waste another withering stare. He turns to tell Tony to go get Ziva, but Tony has already started to leave the room. "I'll go get Ziva, boss," he says over his shoulder on his way out.

Gibbs turns back to the man in the chair, their suspect. He's long-legged and very thin, sitting slightly slouched down, wearing a kiffeyeh around his neck. Gibbs studies him, trying to get a reading. His gut can usually sense things about a suspect right away... but not this one. He can't even tell if he's going to be a hard one to break in interrogation. The man glances once at Gibbs, then looks away, his eyes shifting around the room. Until Ziva walks in.

He sees Ziva before she sees him, and his whole posture changes. It only takes a second, but Gibbs notices how quickly he straightens up in his chair. The police officer notices too and checks him, in case he tries to get away. But he doesn't. He just stares openly, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open a little. Gibbs doesn't know what it's about, but he doesn't like it. His gut is working now, all right. There's something about the look in that man's eyes...

His protective instinct kicks in, and Gibbs starts to move towards the man, intending to put himself between him and Ziva. But one step is as far as he gets. Because just as he moves, Ziva turns her head and sees the man sitting there. Handcuffed in a chair. Their eyes meet, and his widen a bit more in surprise. But Ziva - her eyes narrow.

The air in the room stretches thin until it disappears. Gibbs's chest tightens, worry and pressure squeezing like a vice, like it always does when he realizes that his team has just stepped into something serious. But his eyes are calm, and he doesn't take them from Ziva's face. Ziva doesn't take hers from the man in front of her.

"Ziva..." the man says, and it's almost physically painful to Gibbs's ears. It sounds so wrong to hear her name coming out of his mouth. There's disbelief and something else - a sort of awe - in his voice. Gibbs can tell that however this man once knew Ziva, he expected her to dead now. And then he says more to her, shocked-sounding words that Gibbs can't understand because they're in Arabic.

But the man has barely gotten the words out before Ziva turns on her heel and walks very quickly out of the room. She doesn't so much as look at Gibbs before he leaves. In the silence behind her, for a split-second, Gibbs can hear the foamy, white-crested waves breaking against the sand on Mike's beach in Mexico. _Everything's got its breaking point, Probie._

He takes a deep breath, to brace himself for what's about to come. Then he's on the move, hurrying out of the room, practically running after Ziva.


	2. Breaking Point

_Many thanks to all those of you who left reviews on Chapter 1! I hope that Chapter 2 - and the rest of the story - lives up to your expectations._

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<br>Breaking Point**

He catches up with Ziva outside, on the blanket-sized lawn of scrubby grass. She's standing just beyond the door, her back stiff as she looks over the cracked pavement in the driveway. Gibbs is relieved when he sees her there. In the back of his mind, he worried for a moment that she would run. He steps outside after her and closes the door behind him.

It's a beautiful spring day, and the sun shines warmly on them. Ziva turns her face away from Gibbs as he approaches her. He can hear her breathing hard, even though she's standing perfectly still. He gives her a moment to catch her breath before he asks. He doesn't want to - and he knows that she sure as hell doesn't want to tell him - but he has to know.

"Who is he, Ziva?" He keeps his voice low, even though there's no one else outside to overhear them. He told the guys to stay in the house. They had both tried to follow Ziva outside, when they saw her leaving and the expression on her face, and despite the circumstances, Gibbs was proud of them for it. Few things made him prouder than seeing how much his kids cared about each other. And nothing gave him more hope, right now, that Ziva would get through this okay. Even though he didn't know exactly what _this_ was yet.

"His name is Tamir." Ziva's voice is low, like his, but steady and clear. She kicks at the grass once as she adds, "I did not mean to walk out like that. I was not expecting to see him."

"Where do you know him from?"

Ziva tilts her head slightly to one side, as if considering the best way to word her answer. "From Somalia," she says slowly, almost delicately. "He was one of Saleem's men."

_Oh, God_ is his first coherent thought, before his brain goes into denial mode. Because it would be too horrible for Ziva to come face-to-face with one of her tormentors like this. It would be too impossible for Gibbs and the guys to treat him like any other suspect, knowing who he was and what he had done. So he tries to find a way to keep it from being true.

"You're sure?" he asks softly, keeping any suspicion out of his voice. The last thing that Ziva needs now is to think that he doesn't trust her.

Ziva nods, but she still doesn't look at him. "Very sure," she answers immediately. Gibbs studies the one side of her face visible to him. There's a tight, forced calm in her expression and in her voice. "His name is Tamir. He was one of Saleem's men."

The vice around Gibbs's chest tightens. Now she's talking in circles, and she probably doesn't even realize it. He knows that she doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to say anymore, but he has to understand how...

"We killed every man in that camp, Ziva."

"I know, but Tamir was not there when - when you arrived. He... left. Sometime before." The falters in her voice are slight, but they're enough to tell Gibbs how hard she's fighing to keep it under control, how it is for her to say this. Gibbs was in Somalia, he saw the state Ziva was in there, and obviously there were no good men in that camp. But he can tell from Ziva's voice that this one, this Tamir - he was one of the really bad ones.

That's when he notices that Ziva has one hand on her gun. She hasn't pulled it out of the holster at her waist, but she has a death grip on that handle, like she can barely restrain herself from pulling it out and firing. Gibbs's gut starts to churn. This is going to be harder than he thought - for him, for Ziva, for all of them. He remembers again what Mike told him on the beach that day.

He and Mike spent most of their time drinking and fishing, when he ran off to Mexico after the ship explosion that nearly killed him. The days run together in his memory - all of them except that day when Mike snagged a fish so big and strong that it snapped his fishing line clean in two. "Aw, hell," Mike shrugged, and without missing a beat, he cut a new length of string and rethreaded his pole.

"It doesn't mean it's weak string," he said to Gibbs as he cast back into the ocean. "But everything's got its breaking point, Probie."

Gibbs never forgot those words. The very next day, Ziva called him from his basement in DC, telling him that she was in trouble, and he knew that it was time to go home. Mike was right. Every one of them had a breaking point, and that didn't make them weak. But Gibbs isn't sure how to tell Ziva that, without stealing Mike's fishing-line analogy.

He takes a deep breath and prays that he doesn't screw this up. He has to get her to look at him, at least. "Ziver," he says, and it works. She turns her head and finally meets his gaze. Something inside Gibbs clenches up when he sees the look in her eyes. It's like there's poison inside her, and she's holding it in, letting spread and infect her, instead of spitting it out like she should. Ziva might not want to talk about this, but she sure as hell needs to.

He hears himself ask, "Anything you want to tell me about him?"

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><p>"Anything you wanna tell me about him?"<p>

"I could not tell you anything that would help the case," Ziva replies immediately, shaking her head, shutting Gibbs out. It makes her feel guilty, because she trusts more Gibbs more than anyone, but it's the only answer that she can give. There's nothing she could tell him about Tamir that wouldn't hurt them both. She can tell by the wary concern on Gibbs's face that she's already said too much.

Gibbs sighs and glances back at the house, where Tamir is. That movement alone is enough to make Ziva uncomfortable. She hates the thought of Tamir being inside with Tony and McGee. He knows so many things that she doesn't want her team to find out. One hand is still on her gun, and part of her wants to pull it out, walk back in, and shoot him in the head before he can say one word to the guys. Another part of her wants to turn and run, to put as much distance as possible between her and Tamir. But then Gibbs looks back to her, and his eyes say as clearly as anything, _Don't run._

"It's not the case I'm worried about," he says softly. She appreciates his casual tone. It's almost as if none of this is a big deal. "It might help you, Ziver. To get it out."

Ziva wants to shake her head again, but she knows that Gibbs isn't easily deterred. She moves one tiny step closer to him - and by extension, closer to the house, to Tamir. Her sore, sweaty hand unclenches from around the handle of her gun. She didn't realize that she was gripping it so hard.

Gibbs must sense her resistance dropping, and he tries to give her a way in. He asks again, gently, "Anything you wanna tell me?"

_He was kind to me._ The words form in her mind, but she chokes them down before they make it to her lips. She quickly looks away from Gibbs's steady blue eyes, away to the next-door neighbor's yard, where a blackbird is pecking at the grass. It's something that she can grab onto. It makes her feel a little calmer, but she's still horrified by how close she came to saying it. Gibbs would think she was insane if she defended one of her captors. He might even send her to see the shrink again.

Besides, Tamir was not kind to her. He was simply less cruel than the others. She can't forget that. _Chukat, Ziva, _she reminds herself. Tamir was not kind to her. But she can't bring herself to say anything bad about him, either. If she told Gibbs... no. She can't. She doesn't want pity, least of all from Gibbs. She doesn't want anyone on her team to treat her differently.

Ashamed, Ziva takes a step back from Gibbs, from the house where Tamir is, from the gentle attempts to get her to talk about this. She presses her lips together and shakes her head, her eyes on the ground because she can't meet his any longer. But she can feel him looking still at her, and she tenses, waiting for him to ask her again. Her hand goes to her throat and shakily traces the chain of her necklace.

It seems like a very long time before Gibbs says simply, "Okay." He doesn't press her.

Ziva doesn't realize that she's been holding her breath until she lets it all out in a long sigh. She doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.


	3. The Translation

_Remember how I said that all the team members would get scenes? Well, this is McGee's. I love the friendship between him and Ziva; they're like brother and sister... or maybe not, since I don't get along that well with my brothers. But anyway, I think Ziva and McGee are so cute together, and I hope this chapter conveys that._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>  
><strong>The Translation<strong>

_Sorry, your request could not be translated._

McGee purses his lips in frustration, his fingers hovering over his keyboard as he reads the message on his screen again. When they returned to the Navy Yard, Gibbs and Tony took that man - Tamir, that was his name - to interrogation to question him about Corporal Beason's death. McGee was sent back to his desk to do McGeek work, but instead, he's been trying to translate the words that Tamir said to Ziva back at the house. But he had spoken so quietly, almost tenderly.

It had made McGee think of a snake, like the one that bit him on that camping trip when he was a Webelos. The words slithering softly through the air, full of poison.

He tries to replay the words in his mind, but the memory makes him so uncomfortable. He almost didn't hear them, but he certainly saw the look on Ziva's face. It was impossible to miss that. Her dark eyes went blank, like a light inside them was suddenly switched off. McGee had seen that emptiness in her eyes in Somalia, and seeing it again made his stomach clench up in knots that still hadn't come undone, even here at his desk in the familiar safety of the bullpen.

McGee clicks on different translation websites, tries different spellings, but his search still yields no results. Maybe he isn't even translating from the right language. He assumes that Tamir was speaking Arabic, but how would he know? Sure, he can translate Klingon, but a language that might actually be _useful_ to know is beyond him.

He raises his head above his monitor, and his eyes wander over to Ziva's empty desk. He isn't exactly sure where she is - probably in observation, watching Gibbs and Tony interrogate Tamir. Maybe he should just _ask_ Ziva what Tamir had said, but... no. It wouldn't be anything relevant to the case; it wasn't as if he had confessed to killing Beason to her. Asking Ziva would only upset her, and Gibbs and Tony would kick his ass if he did that.

But still, he's curious. He can tell that he won't be able to stop wondering. So when he sees Nikki Jardine crossing the bullpen, McGee jumps up from behind his desk and hurries after her. _You're doing this for Ziva._

"Um, Agent Jardine?" he calls.

She turns around, a stack of files in her hand, and smiles when she sees him. "Agent McGee," she says, remembering him from the few times that she's worked with Gibbs's team.

"Can I ask you a quick question?"

"Sure," she nods. "Anything to avoid typing up all this paperwork."

McGee glances around to make sure that no one is in earshot, then steps closer to Nikki. "I know you speak Arabic," he says in a low voice. "I need you to translate something." Nikki looks slightly puzzled - _she's probably wondering why I'm not asking Ziva this_ - but she nods again. McGee takes a deep breath and, as well as he can, he repeats the sounds that Tamir made when he saw Ziva.

Nikki's eyes widen as the expression on her face goes from puzzled to shocked, and the knots in McGee's stomach suddenly tighten. He once again imagines the words as a snake, coiled and hissing, ready to strike - at him, this time. This isn't going to be pretty.

"Where did you ever hear such a thing?" Nikki asks. Her tone is almost accusatory.

God, how could he have been so stupid enough to ask her this? _Never mind,_ McGee wants to answer._ I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business, anyway. _But before the words can make it to his lips, Nikki goes on.

"It means... well, it means 'the black-eyed Jew.' The second part, _yahoud_, that's the Arabic word for Jew." Nikki squares her shoulders and looks McGee as if she doesn't know whether to be offended or concerned. "Where did you hear it?" she asks again, but the look on McGee's face must scream _nonono can't tell you that_ because she hastily adds, "I mean, I don't know where you heard it, but... does it make sense? In context?" She's as uncomfortable as he is now. She must suspect that this has something to do with Ziva.

McGee just manages to nod and thank her before he turns and heads back to his desk. When he accidentally bumps into it, the sharp corner jabbing him in the thigh, he can't help but think, _Good, that hurts. I deserve it._ What was he thinking? He hasn't done this _for_ Ziva, but _to_ her. He's gone behind her back and found out something that she didn't want anyone to know.

He's so busy beating himself up that he's at his desk before he feels it - a gaze on his back. McGee slowly turns around, and there's Ziva, sitting behind her own desk, regarding him steadily. Her and her damn Mossad spy skills. How did she sneak back into the bullpen without him noticing? And how long has she been sitting there? McGee's mouth feels impossibly dry, and he realizes with sudden horror that he's standing there with his jaw hanging open like an idiot.

"Ziva," he says, and - is that really his voice? So high and squeaky, so obviously guilty? He swallows hard and tries again. "Ziva. I thought you were in interroga - "

"I was," she says shortly, cutting him off.

McGee glances at the elevators. Maybe he should try to make a run for it, since Ziva must have overheard him talking to Nikki, and she's obviously pissed about it, and she can kick his ass twelve different ways.

Ziva goes on, "But Gibbs did not want me in observation while he interrogated Ta - " But she stops on his name and makes a strange choking noise, low in her throat. McGee can't help staring at her, his eyes widening, because he's never heard Ziva make a sound like that before and hopes to God that he never hears it again. He watches nervously as she raises one hand to her throat and presses the Star of David pendant on her necklace. It seems to calm her.

Ziva swallows and starts over, just like he did a moment ago. "Gibbs wants to know if you traced those last calls on Beason's cell phone."

Of course. The calls to the blocked number. McGee had completely forgotten that Gibbs wanted him to try to hack through the security barrier. "Um, right," he says quickly, trying to recover. But he still doesn't move from where he's standing in front of his desk, looking over at Ziva. "Yeah, I was just getting to - uh, I mean, I haven't had a chance yet, but - "

"I know," Ziva interrupts, very quietly. McGee has to strain to hear her. And that terrible blankness is in her eyes again. McGee flashes back to his childhood home in Bethesda, right after his family moved out. The bare, curtainless windows framing the empty rooms. That's what Ziva's eyes look like now - just as if the woman behind them has packed up and moved out.

Then, with a neat clip to each word, she adds, "Agent Jardine's translation was very... accurate."

McGee is sure that Ziva must hear his stomach do something like a flip-flop before it drops into his shoes. He hasn't felt so guilty since he thought he killed the undercover cop. Before he even registers it, he's crossed the distance to her desk, words tumbling out his mouth, trying to undo the damage, trying to draw the poison out of the snake bite.

"Ziva, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to - I know it was none of my business, but I was just so worried about you - " _No, Tim, you idiot, she doesn't want to hear that, she hates to pitied._ "I mean, I was just so curious, and I didn't think you would find out, so - "

"Did you think if you asked me, I would not have told you what it means?" McGee doesn't have to strain to hear her this time. She's been looking away, staring fixedly at her monitor, but now she meets his gaze, her eyes flashing with anger. At least they're not so empty-looking anymore. And she's actually angry. It's the first crack in the mask of forced calm that she's worn since she came face-to-face with Tamir.

_Yes_, McGee almost answers, because he knows how guarded Ziva can be, how much she wouldn't want to talk about Tamir or translate what he said to her. Besides, Gibbs gave him and Tony strict orders not to press her about anything.

"No," he hears himself say, his voice surprisingly steady, "I thought if I asked you... it would upset you. And I didn't want to do that." He forces himself to maintain eye-contact with Ziva, even though he can still hear those words slithering around in the back of his mind - _the black-eyed Jew_ - and he hopes that Ziva understands that this isn't pity. This is concern. This is her team caring about her.

Ziva doesn't answer right away, but she slowly stands up behind her desk. She reaches for McGee with one arm, and he actually hopes that she _does_ kick his ass, or at least head-smack him. He deserves it. But her anger disappears as suddenly as it came, and she just puts her hand on McGee's shoulder. It feels all wrong that _she's_ comforting _him_, but it also occurs to McGee that maybe this is what Ziva needs to do to avoids feeling like a victim.

"I know, McGee," she says, her voice quiet again, but he can hear the genuine gratitude in it. "I appreciate that."

And when she manages a smile, he smiles back at her. It's what she's been doing ever since they brought her back from Somalia, after all - acting like everything's normal, pretending that nothing's wrong. He can't stop playing along with her now.


	4. The Touchstone

_This chapter was the first one I wrote, and then the rest of the story grew out of it! I prefer Tony and Ziva as friends, but you Tiva fans might enjoy this..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<br>The Touchstone**

Ziva stays with McGee behind his desk, supposedly to help him trace Beason's last calls. But the truth is that she feels calmer with one of her teammates near her. Still, she keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall. Tamir is in the same time zone now. He's in the same _building_, and she imagines him glancing up, in the same nervous way, at the red recording light on the wall in interrogation. What is he telling Gibbs and Tony? What are they asking him that Gibbs didn't want Ziva to hear?

Tamir knows everything - _everything_ - that happened to her in Somalia. She couldn't hold back all the screams and whimpers, and he heard every one that made it through her dry, cracked lips.

The steady _click-click-click_ of McGee's hands on his keyboard steadies her. Ziva tries to focus on what he's saying, tries to grab onto it, but then Gibbs sweeps back into the bullpen from interrogation, looking grim. She finds something to grab onto then, all right. She puts one hand on McGee's arm, gripping it hard, and doesn't even realize it until he whispers, "Ow, Ziva..."

Gibbs doesn't say anything except to send her and Tony back to the house where they picked up Tamir. In interrogation, Tamir insisted that he didn't kill Beason, but another member of his cell did. He told them where in the house the gun was hidden, gave them directions on how to find it. Tony and Ziva are to go back for it.

Ziva stays behind McGee's desk, as if frozen there, but her eyes track Gibbs across the bullpen. She watches him closely, trying to discern some change in his face, some sign that he knows things about her now that he didn't know before he interrogated Tamir. But Gibbs looks the same as he always does, right down to the coffee cup in his hand. When he catches Ziva staring at him, she quickly looks away, guilty. Gibbs is the last person in the world that she should feel suspicious of.

They take Tony's car back to the house. Ziva barely has to look to see the change in _him_. He slams the car door shut, rams his key into the ignition, and grips the steering wheel tightly in his hands before speeding out of the Navy Yard.

Under any other circumstances, Ziva would be proud that her driving has rubbed off on Tony. But he's just come from interrogating Tamir... His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and Ziva can sense that words are aching to burst out of them. Did Tamir say something to make him so angry? Did Gibbs order Tony not to repeat it to her?

She doesn't wait long to find out. As soon as they're on their way and there's no possibility of anyone overhearing them, Ziva glances at Tony out of corner of her eye and asks, "What did Tamir tell you in interrogation?"

But Tony doesn't answer right away. He flexes his hands on the steering wheel for a moment, never taking his eyes off the road. His answer, when it finally comes, is not what she expected. "Well, Gibbs made me leave pretty early in," he sighs.

Ziva turns her head, staring at him openly now. Tony still keeps his eyes fixed on the road, and she's grateful for that because she probably looks as alarmed as she feels. Tony is Gibbs's right hand. Gibbs wouldn't have sent him out of interrogation unless...

"Did - did you ask him anything about me?" She wants to kick herself for stammering.

Tony shifts forward in his seat and hunches over the steering wheel. Ziva can see his shoulders tense up beneath his suit jacket, so hard that it must be painful for him. "I didn't ask him about you. Gibbs told me not to before we went in," he says slowly, and before Ziva even has time to relax, he adds, "but he did... volunteer some stuff."

They both jerk forward slightly when he hits the brake and screeches to a stop at the next red light. He slams the turn signal down with one hand and leans back in his seat, spitting his words out like they're poison. "Gibbs kept asking him about Beason, but he only wanted to talk about you. He went on about how you were so... _well-treated_ - " Tony actually grits his teeth around the words " - in Somalia, how Saleem gave you enough to eat and made sure none of his men touched you and..."

Ziva inhales sharply, but the it's like the air in her lungs has turned to ice, and her breath freezes in her chest for a moment. How could she have been stupid enough to ask Tony about this? She actually puts her hand on the door handle. It's that tempting to open the door, get out of the car in the middle of the intersection, and end this conversation right now.

But Tony is still talking, and Ziva can't remember when she's ever heard him sound so angry. "...but we just couldn't get him away from it. That's when I got up and kicked his chair out from under him and told him if he said one more goddamn word about you, I'd throw his head through the mirror. That's when Gibbs made me leave."

As soon as the light turns green, he hits the gas and speeds forward so fast that people would think Ziva is driving. Ziva tells herself that she should feel touched that Tony is so angry on her behalf, but all she feels is panic, telling her to run, to get away from this, but she's trapped in a moving car and has nowhere to go. _None of his men touched you._ She tries to imagine what Tamir's exact words were, whether they were enough to make Tony suspect...

But they were. Who is she trying to kid? Tony is their Senior Field Agent. He isn't stupid. Ziva feels like another little piece of herself has ripped been open. Now Tony too has found out something about her that she had never wanted anyone to know. Just like McGee. It's exactly what she was afraid of. The angry fear is a familiar sensation, coiled up and hissing, like a snake in her chest. It was all that she ever felt in Somalia.

And then the sound of the car wheels on the road shuts off, just as if someone's hit the mute button. Ziva presses her thumb hard against her Star of David pendant, trying to steady herself. She knows that if she closed her eyes now - she won't, of course, she can't allow herself to do that - she would hear, as clear as anything, Tamir's hot, husky breath at her ear, and the last words that the two of them said to each other in Somalia.

"_Ziva, don't struggle_."

"_Tamir, don't do this_."

"Fuck, Zi..."

Tony's voice is low, but so close beside her, startling her back to the present. He's pulled over somewhere; through the the window Ziva sees a shotgun house with a small, unkempt yard. They're near the house that Tamir and the rest of the terrorist cell had been using as a base, but they're not quite there yet. Ziva opens her mouth to ask Tony why he stopped, but then she feels a warm wetness on her chest.

She looks down, surprised to see a bright crimson trail of blood at the nape of her neck. Tony leans across her, opens the glove compartment, and pulls out a pack of wet wipes. It so strikes her as something that a suburban soccer mom would do, keep a pack of wet wipes on-hand in the glove compartment, that an insane laugh almost escapes her. Then Tony silently presses one against the cut on her neck. She jerks away at first, startled by the cold, wet sensation, but then she moves her necklace to one side so that he can dab at the blood.

It only takes her a second to understand what happened. As Tony wipes away the blood, she sees six tiny marks at the base of her neck, small and close together. She pressed so hard against her Star of David pendant that it dug into her skin and left six bloody pinpricks in her flesh, one for each point of the star.

Tony leans back before he speaks, and Ziva can tell that he wants to see her reaction. "And I thought Abby was the one with dangerous jewelry," he says softly. It's an attempt at humor, but also a way to tell her that he knows how she just cut herself.

Ziva wonders how much more he knows. There's no way he _could_ know, but maybe he's guessed, somehow, that Gibbs gave her this necklace, the winter after she came back, in a case on her desk on the first day of Hanukkah. Or that Saleem ripped off her old one, in her cell in Somalia, on the first day he captured her. Or that it's been her touchstone since she saw Tamir again, her reminder that it was over. As long as she could feel it around her neck, she knew that she was here in DC, with her team, safe.

Ziva takes a deep breath and finally meets Tony's eyes, but she has to look away almost immediately. There's too much concern in them. Guilt tugs at her when she doesn't answer him, just like she didn't answer Gibbs, but instead brushes his hand away from her neck, takes the wipe from him, and holds it in place herself. A slight shudder runs through her, because Tony wiping her blood away reminds her too much of Tamir.

She can't tell him - she doesn't want anyone to think that she's defending Tamir - but she wonders again if Tony somehow knows that the man he interrogated today used to wipe the blood from her face, push her shirt up to tend to her lacerated back, clean the dirt and sand out of her wounds. That he had started out as the kindest man in Saleem's camp and ended up as the worst. Ziva can almost still feel the phantom touch of his hands on her body.

It seems like she's far away, watching someone else, as she sees her free hand lift up from the armrest and move to Tony's arm, resting on top of his jacket sleeve. She curls her fingers lightly against the soft fabric, and the smell of his Armani drifts up to her nose. It makes her feel better to touch him, just like when she put her hand on McGee's shoulder. The anger and fear and guilt inside her seep away, until she's just left with gratitude that her team is still right here beside her. They've still got her back.

"Hey... you okay?" Tony asks quietly, those concerned eyes still heavy on her.

She nods.


	5. Test Results

_Many thanks again to all you readers who have left reviews - they mean so much! This is probably my favorite chapter. God loves a duck!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<br>Test Results**

Gibbs sends Tony and Ziva back to the house to find the gun, then heads down to Abby's lab with the blood sample that he got from Tamir in interrogation. Tamir was so damn willing to give him a blood sample, so eager to tell him where to find the gun that had killed Corporal Beason. So... _cooperative_. It was frustrating as hell. Gibbs wanted every reason that he could get to hate the bastard. He wanted to pin Beason's murder on him. He wanted to yell at him and throw him against the wall in interrogation when he didn't answer his questions. But he answered every one.

They know that Beason struggled with his attacker before he was killed. Ducky found defensive wounds on the body, and blood that wasn't his. Gibbs's gut is already telling him that Tamir isn't the killer - Beason wouldn't have lost a struggle with someone so thin - but still, he takes his blood sample to Abby's lab, to see if it matches the blood found on Beason.

It doesn't. A frustrated sigh escapes his lips as he looks away from Abby's sad puppy-dog eyes. One of the guys must have told her about how Tamir knows Ziva, and she wishes that they could nail him for murder almost as much as Gibbs does. But Abby does glean some other information from her analysis of Tamir's blood sample, and when she tells Gibbs, it makes his heart skip a beat and propels him out of her lab, down the hall to autopsy. He doesn't even kiss Abby's cheek before he leaves.

He enters autopsy at a fast, panicked pace and practically plows down Palmer, who's on his way out. "Oh, excuse me, Agent Gibbs," Palmer squeaks, ducking his head apologetically. Beason's pale, cold body is still stretched out on the autopsy table. Ducky is examining the gunshot wound, a pair of tweezers shiny in his hand under the bright lights.

"We got a suspect for his murder," he tells Ducky, jerking his head towards Beason's body. Then he pauses and rocks back on his heels. He has to tell Ducky how Ziva knows Tamir, but it isn't as simple as explaining it to the guys. Ducky knows things that nobody else does about what happened to Ziva in Somalia. It terrifies Gibbs to think that Ducky might already know what Abby just told him in her lab. If Ducky's known all this time and never told him...

But before he can go on, Ducky sighs and turns away to the little table where his instruments are laid out. He puts down the tweezers and picks up something else. "Yes, I know. Timothy told Abigail, and she told me. She was just here. She was very concerned for Ziva, and - "

Gibbs grabs the opportunity. It's still a hard thing to say, but it's a little easier to say it to Ducky's back instead of his face. "Yeah, I just brought her a blood sample from him," Gibbs interrupts. A deep breath - as deep as he can manage with that icy weight in his chest - then, "He's HIV positive, Duck."

Ducky knows him well enough that he doesn't have to ask the question. And thank God for that, because he isn't sure if he has the words for it. As soon as he finishes speaking, Ducky turns to him, shaking his head, his face grave. For a split-second, Gibbs suddenly feels drenched in a cold sweat.

"She doesn't have it, Jethro."

"You're _sure_?" He talks over Ducky with the question, but he can't help it.

"Quite sure. I ran the test on her myself, when I examined her." Ducky pauses and leans on the edge of the table, the autopsy on Beason momentarily forgotten. "Of course Abigail usually does our blood work, but you know how emotional she is. I decided that I should do it, in case it came back positive." Gibbs nods slightly in agreement. He can't even imagine how Abby would've fallen apart if she were the first of them to find out that Ziva had contracted HIV.

"Honestly, I don't know when I've ever been so scared to look at test results," Ducky goes on, and Gibbs can hear the fear still in his voice, even after all this time. "But it was negative. I wanted to weep with relief. But then I thought... after three months held captive in such a place... I ran the test on her twice more, just to be absolutely certain. But they came back negative, all three of them. She doesn't have it, Jethro."

_She doesn't have it._ No, of course she doesn't. Gibbs closes his eyes briefly as his breathing goes back to normal. It was God-awful, those few minutes when he honestly thought that Ziva might... but she doesn't have it. Ducky tested her three times. If Ziva had contracted HIV in Somalia, Ducky would've found out right away and told him.

Gibbs hadn't wanted to take the slightest chances with her health, not after what she'd been through. So he had asked her, after she first came back, to let Ducky examine her. Ziva was reluctant - repeating that she was fine, reminding him that her injuries had already been treated - but Gibbs insisted. Ducky was more observant, and he knew her better than the hospital doctors. If there was anything wrong with her that they had missed, Ducky would find it.

She argued with him, like he knew she would, until Gibbs just said quietly, "It's not up for debate, Ziver." It made it a little easier to channel Mike Franks, who had never cut _him_ any slack a day in his life, but he still felt like a bastard for it. He had to remind himself that the second B in his name stood for bastard, after all.

Ziva narrowed her eyes, and Gibbs readied for more objections. He was caught off-guard when the fight suddenly went out of her. Her shoulders slackened, and she turned away from him and said, "Take me to autopsy, then." Of course she would want to get it over with right away, but for her to submit to it with barely a fight - that wasn't their Ziva. His gut whispered to him that maybe there _was_ something still wrong with her.

Gibbs took her down to autopsy himself, because she hadn't yet been accepted as a probationary agent and wasn't allowed in the building unaccompanied. Ducky slid the doors shut behind her, and Gibbs was surprised when he heard the click of the lock. Ducky locked the autopsy doors so rarely that he had forgotten what it sounded like.

He waited in the hall outside autopsy for them. He hadn't told Ducky anything specific when they discussed it beforehand, just asked him to look at Ziva. But it took longer than he had expected, until his gut started working overtime. There must be something wrong, some injury that the hospital doctors had missed, something serious. His nerves were a wreck by the time the doors finally slid open again. Ziva seemed rattled too, when she came out, and refused to meet Gibbs's eyes. Gibbs assumed that Ducky had been more thorough in his exam than she would've liked.

But Ducky had never said one word about that exam, except to tell him that Ziva was fine, she was clear for field work. Now he knows that behind those doors, Ducky was testing Ziva for HIV - once, twice, three times, and wanting to weep with relief when they each came back negative.

"Has Ziva said anything to you?" Ducky asks him now. He's bent over Beason's body on the table, stitching his chest back up. "About this suspect?"

Gibbs sighs and runs a hand across his mouth, one of the uncomfortable tells that he only lets Ducky see. "Nope. Just told me who he was and how she knew him." A huge part of the weight has been lifted from his shoulders, knowing that Ziva didn't contract HIV from Tamir or anyone else in that camp, but it isn't all gone. He flashes back standing next to Ziva on the lawn in the bright spring sunlight. She hadn't even said no when he asked if she wanted to talk about Tamir. She just shook her head.

"She learned it from me."

Ducky pauses in stitching up their corporal and looks at him, but neither of them speak for a moment. Gibbs wonders if they're both thinking the same thing - that he's the master at burying his emotions, even from those closest to him. Ducky was his friend for almost fifteen years, and in all that time, Gibbs had never once told him about Shannon and Kelly. And guilt clenches around his heart because he knows, deep down, that if Jenny had never told him, Ducky still wouldn't know.

At least Ducky doesn't deny what he's just said. "Well, you and Ziva do have somewhat similar methods of coping," he answers slowly. He studies Gibbs hard across Beason's body. "But she would open up to you, Jethro. If you asked her about it."

He starts shaking his head before Ducky finishes. No, he made up his mind back at the house, when he saw how uncomfortable it made Ziva. And afterwards, as soon as he had a minute alone with the guys, he explained, told them how this strange man - a suspect, no less - knew their Ziva's name. Then, he read them the riot act. _"No one is going to ask her any questions, and no one is going to try to make her talk about it if she doesn't want to. Got it?" _And DiNozzo and McGee had nodded, very solemnly.

He meant that. He wasn't going to press her. No one was, but...

Ducky can sense his reluctance. "You know that you aren't doing Ziva any favors if you let her avoid this," he says firmly. Gibbs hates that he won't let this go. "She needs to get it out, Jethro." He pauses, then adds in a low voice, "And you need to let her confront this man."

He can't help looking at Ducky like it's the most insane idea that he's ever heard. Which it very well might be. Ducky knows damn well how protective he is of his kids. He isn't about to let Ziva come face-to-face with Tamir again, not after how she reacted the last time that she saw him. It's for the best, that's what he's been telling himself, but now his gut whispers otherwise to him. _Ziva wasn't ready at the house. She didn't expect to see him then. Now she does._

Gibbs tries to ignore how much sense it makes. He shakes his head again, but his voice doesn't sound half as firm as Ducky's when he says, "Ziva doesn't want to talk about it."

Ducky's response is smooth and immediate. "Ziva didn't want to let me examine her when she first came back, either. But you made her do it because you knew she needed it. This is no different."

"I..." Gibbs starts, but then he stops because - _dammit_. He makes a mental note to never get into an argument with Ducky again. What does the man do, rehearse these things beforehand? He drops his eyes, suddenly exhausted from the effort of holding Ducky's, and finishes at last, "I don't want to reopen any wounds, Duck."

Ducky's face shows sadness and surprise and disbelief, all at once. He says gently, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and Gibbs must be blind to not see it, "They've never really healed, Jethro. This is the only way that they're going to."


	6. The Escape

_I don't know why, but this chapter was SO hard for me to write. I'm proud of the way it finally turned out. I love Abby/Ziva frienship moments, and I wish the show gave us more of them._

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<br>The Escape**

She and Tony return to the house and find the gun, hidden away exactly where Tamir said that it would be. "Guess he was telling the truth about something," Tony murmurs as he bags it up. And Ziva's jaw clenches hard as she looks away from him and chokes down her words. She knows that they're both thinking about what Tamir said in interrogation, the lies about how well-treated she was in Somalia. The ride back to the Navy Yard is uncomfortably quiet, and Ziva's jaw hurts soon, but she keeps her lips pursed together. She doesn't want to try to explain to Tony about Tamir, when she can't even explain it to herself.

But when they get back to the Navy Yard with the gun, their murder weapon, Gibbs shakes his head and says that there's no point in Abby running a ballistics test on it today. She already ran the blood sample from Tamir, and it isn't a match to the blood found in the defensive wounds on Corporal Beason. In the very next breath, he tells them to head home. The rest of the case can wait until tomorrow. The guys don't object - it's been a long day and too much has happened - but Ziva just stands there for a moment, staring at Gibbs, wondering if maybe she misheard him.

Gibbs holds her gaze until she has to look away. She knows that her team is concerned for her, but she despises the look in Gibbs's eyes. The _pity_. As if she might fall apart if he makes her work any longer. She hears herself make some excuse about going to see Abby and escapes downstairs.

On the basement level, she slips into a women's restroom that's rarely used, sighing in relief when she finds it empty. She turns on a faucet, cups her hands under the cool water, and splashes her face. She remembers trying to calm herself like this after Gibbs almost died in the ship explosion. She tries to remember anything except -

Abruptly, Ziva straightens up and studies herself in the mirror. She looks exactly the same as she did yesterday, or even this morning, before Tamir came back into her life. But it feels like a corpse that she buried months ago has been dug up, and now all the ugliness that she had worked so hard to hide is laid out in front of her whole team. McGee knows one of the names that they called her. Gibbs and Tony almost certainly know that she was raped, if they didn't suspect already. Part of her never wants to face them again, and she wonders vaguely if maybe she could just hide out in this restroom forever.

In the mirror, her gaze wanders down to her Star of David pendant. She resists the urge to touch it again, forcing her hands to stay where they are on the cool porcelain edge of the sink.

The scratch at the bottom of her neck is a small, red mark against the gold of her skin. She doesn't think anyone will notice it. But what if Tony tells Gibbs about what happened? The thought makes her shudder slightly. She doesn't want Gibbs to treat her any differently. As long as Gibbs acts normally, like Tamir is just any other suspect, the team will follow his lead.

She shudders again as she draws a deep breath, and her hands grip the sink tightly. There's a pine-scented air freshener cone between the sinks, but Ziva could swear that she smells sand and burlap.

Without warning, the restroom door swings open, and Ziva jerks around in a motion that immediately strikes her as too panicked, too nervous. Abby enters slowly, her hands held up in front of her chest and fidgeting with each other. She's nervous too, and that makes Ziva swallow hard and look away, blinking back sudden tears. She doesn't want her team to feel nervous around her.

Abby doesn't say a word, but she watches Ziva closely, her eyes full of the same concern that Ziva came to the restroom to escape. Ziva tries to slide her mask into place, tries to look calm and collected... but she can feel the slight shudders still running through her, and she doesn't have any energy left to hide them or wonder if Abby notices. Maybe Gibbs was right to send them home early.

After a few seconds of nervous silence, Ziva asks, "Do they need me back in the bullpen?" It's the only thing that she think to say. She doesn't want to talk about Tamir, and the guys must have told Abby about him.

But Ziva has barely finished the question before Abby wraps her arms around her and pulls her into a hug. Ziva instinctively stiffens; she doesn't want pity, and by extension, she doesn't want comfort, either. But Abby keeps hugging her tight, her chin over Ziva's shoulder, just like she did in the bullpen last September, when their team first brought her back to the Navy Yard. The memory of it still feels so unreal...

After the applause had died down and Abby finally broke off their hug, she had gone over to Gibbs and whispered something to him, then led Ziva downstairs to the women's showers. Ziva was still so numb with shock at finding herself back in the bullpen after three months of horror - still half-certain that this was all a dream and she would wake up at any moment back in that cell - that she didn't even object when Abby stepped right into the shower stall with her. She turned on the hot water and helped Ziva undress, and then Ziva just stood under the warm spray, which did wonders for her aching muscles, while Abby gently scrubbed away three months' worth of dirt, grime, sand, sweat, and blood. She was especially careful in cleaning out the many still-open wounds on Ziva's body, but she never once seemed bothered by them or asked Ziva to explain. She stuck to simple, yes-or-no questions that Ziva could answer with a nod or shake of her head. _Is the water warm enough? __I'm not hurting you, am I? You promise you'll tell me if anything hurts? Can you turn around for me? I'm gonna wash your hair now, okay? I know you'll feel so much better after I've gotten you all cleaned up.  
><em>

It's only now, months later, standing in the women's restroom with Abby's arms around her, that Ziva realizes with some surprise that she never felt exposed or uncomfortable having Abby in the shower with her.

And suddenly, Ziva's stiff body relaxes. Her arms come up and hug Abby back. The tension that's been in her shoulders since she saw Tamir again eases, just like it did when she touched McGee and Tony, leaving her with only a bone-deep tiredness and a vague curiosity. How did she get lucky enough to find a team that cared this much about her?

The two of them stand like that for a long moment. The square metal studs on Abby's belt press uncomfortably against Ziva's waist, but she doesn't pull away. An Abby-hug is what she needs. It's normal behavior. Ziva can almost trick herself into believing that Abby is hugging her over something else, not because one of her captors has come back to haunt her. She doesn't mind so much now that Gibbs sent them home early.

Ziva was always the first to break off when Abby hugged her, but this time, she doesn't. It's something she can grab onto - one of the quiet, peaceful moments she tries to find every day. But she knows that Abby must be curious; she must have questions, like McGee did, and she waits nervously for her to ask them. But Abby just hugs her tight. She doesn't say a word, and she doesn't ask Ziva to.

Ziva appreciates that more than any words can say.


	7. The Decree

_So far, the story has focused a lot on Ziva's interactions with the rest of the team. So I figured it was time for a more introspective chapter with Ziva by herself._

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><p><strong>Chapter 7<br>The Decree**

Ziva goes for a jog that night, hoping that it will clear her head. Her new apartment is smaller and less luxurious than the one that was blown up, but she loves the neighborhood. It's only one block down from a busy street with a corner cafe where she buys coffee in the mornings, and a bookstore where she browses in the evenings. She smiles every time she sees the display table of _Deep Six_.

This evening, though, Ziva pulls on her tennis shoes and starts jogging down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, away from the shoppers and the red signs blinking _Open_. There's a residential neighborhood this way - quiet streets lined with houses and manicured lawns, popular with joggers and dog-walkers. It's just what she needs. She certainly isn't going to stay in her apartment, alone with her thoughts.

It's a cool evening, and soon Ziva has settled into an steady rhythm. A cherry tree down the street is in bloom, so thick with tiny white flowers that she can't even see the branches. As she approaches it, a breeze kicks up. It smells like rain and springtime, and Ziva closes her eyes as it blows across her, cooling the drops of sweat on her face. The leaves rustle as the tree branches sway, and just as Ziva jogs past, the tiny white blossoms scatter in the wind. She slows down to watch them swirl and fall against the pale green grass. It looks like a waterfall of beaded white light.

It's easy, during moments like this - quiet, peaceful moments that she tries to find every day, and grab onto - to pretend that those three months in Somalia happened to someone else. She's here in DC, whole and unharmed, and the cherry trees are blooming. It's a world away from blistering desert heat, sand in her clothes and blood in her mouth. She can almost trick herself into believing that it wasn't _her_ who spent weeks tied to a chair.

A few blocks later, the sky is overcast. The gray clouds seem to hover low, right above the tree branches. Ziva keeps jogging even as she feels the first few raindrops fall on her arms and face. Then -

A hand slides under her cheek, gently raising her head up from the rough floor. A moan escapes her; after the beating she took earlier, it hurts too much to move her head. But before she can black out again, blessedly cool drops of water splash her face. Ziva gasps at the strange sensation - she hasn't had anything to drink since yesterday - and another hand brushes her hair back, then raises a cup of water to her parched lips. Her eyelids are sticky with blood, but she forces them open, and Tamir's face, looking down at her with such pity, swims into focus through the pain. She tries to sit up, but -

The rain rips her out of the flashback just as suddenly as it had triggered it. There was no rain in the Somali desert, not like this. It's falling fast and thick now, until Ziva is soaked to the skin. She stops at the next corner and bends over, her hands on her knees, breathing hard. The rain feels good on her body, cool and cleansing, and the sound of it drowns out her pulse pounding in her ears. She straightens up and stretches, then resumes her jog, despite the weather.

Her feet pound the sidewalk steadily, and with each step, Ziva feels her anger rising. At Tamir. At herself. She hasn't flashed back like that in months. She _can't_ let Tamir effect her like this. She picks up her speed and jogs several more blocks on anger alone. The spring rain stops - or maybe she's just outrun it, and she wonders vaguely if she could outrun all her problems if she just kept jogging long enough.

_Chukat, Ziva,_ she reminds herself. It was the name of the parsha that had angered her so much when she was young. _Chukat_. _The decree._ She's forgotten most of the parsha names by now, but not that one, even after all these years.

Right after her bat mitzvah, Eli had decided that Ziva would attend Torah study classes for a year, long enough to read every parsha once. He never asked his daughter whether she wanted to do it or not; he just made the decree. And since she was still a good little Jewish girl then, so eager to please her father, she had agreed.

It wasn't until many years later, after even surviving a suicide mission wasn't good enough for him, that Ziva finally gave up on trying to please her father.

The rain has stopped, but Ziva isn't sure if she's outrun the storm or if it just hasn't touched this part of the neighborhood. She still isn't quite used to DC's sudden spring showers, so different from the weather in Tel Aviv. Across the street, little girl rides down the sidewalk on her bike, her feet pumping the pedals with the slow, shaky movements of a beginner. A man - her father - is jogging right behind her, holding the back of the seat to keep her from toppling over. As Ziva jogs by, she turns her head and glances at his hand, strong and steady, keeping his daughter balanced.

It wasn't until many years later that Ziva finally understood Chukat. It had upset her so much when she first read it. Moses struck the rock to yield water in the desert, and in return, God made the devastating decree that he would not live to enter the Promised Land. Ziva went rounds with her Torah study teacher over it. She insisted that it was unfair. She kept asking why one defiant act was enough to cancel out years of service. She can't remember her teacher's answer now, just that it hadn't satisfied her.

It had frightened her too, that just one act of disobedience could incur God's wrath and make you fall from grace like that, even after you had worked so hard for so long. It reminded her of her father more than she could admit to herself at the time.

But on the worst night, the last night that she saw Tamir, she understood how one wrong action could cancel out dozens of right ones, just as if they never existed. Tamir had tended to her for months, bringing her food and water, treating her injuries. He was always kind to her, and even gave her a blanket to sleep under at night. But in the end, he hurt her worse than anyone else in that camp. Even though he was gentle. Even though it was brief. Even though he was hardly the only man in that camp to use her. Tamir was the only one that she actually trusted, and so he was the only one who could betray her.

Evening has started to turn into night by the time Ziva comes to a stop again. Darkness is falling around her while the stars come out above. Lights shine, warm yellows and whites, in the houses lining the street. Ziva stops at a corner and slowly turns around, looking back at the way she's come.

She made up her mind at the house today, right after she saw Tamir. She isn't going to talk about it. She isn't going to tell her team that she would've forgotten her own name if not for Tamir. He was the only one who ever called her by her name, instead of _the black-eyed Jew_ or the many other, worse things that she heard in Somalia. She certainly isn't going to explain that she would've died there without him. She can't afford to let her team think that she is defending Tamir. He undid saying her name and saving her life and weeks of kindess to her, all in one night.

Ziva takes a deep breath before she starts back for her apartment. She's come farther than she meant to, and of course every step that she's jogged this evening is more that she'll have to jog back. Still, she has an excellent sense of direction. It's far, but she knows exactly how to get back to her apartment.

But she feels so lost.

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><p><em>I worry this chapter might have been a little confusing. If you have any questions about the story, please ask!<em>


	8. The Verdict

_This chapter is a bit of a hodge-podge - I hope you all enjoy it!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<br>****The Verdict**

Gibbs is mildly surprised when they all come in early the next morning. He wanted to go see Ducky and ask him if he knew of a way to get Ziva to open up; he figured that he would have plenty of time at this hour, but he barely beats his team to the bullpen. Ziva walks in briskly, her head held high and shoulders thrown back. She probably convinces the guys that she's fine, but Gibbs notices the faint dark circles under her eyes. He shouldn't have let her go home alone yesterday. How she would've despised him if he had sent someone home with her. But it was like Ducky said - sometimes he has to do things that his kids hate, for their own good.

Ziva follows him when he heads down to Abby's lab. First thing this morning, she ran prints and a ballistics test on the gun that they recovered from the house, but she isn't able to glean much information.

"It's the muder weapon, all right," Abby tells them, moving her mouse around as the computer program analyzes the angle of the shot. "The bullets in it are a match to the slugs Ducky pulled out of Beason, and based on the trajectory and the location of the gunshot wound, our killer has to be right-handed." She pauses, glances apologetically at Gibbs, then rushes on, "Of course, something like eighty percent of the population is right-handed, so I know that doesn't narrow it down much, but - "

Ziva has been so quiet this morning, her lips pressed together in a thin line - as if she wants to talk, as if she's bursting to, but she won't let herself. She's the only one of his kids who can catch Gibbs off-guard like this, when she interrupts Abby and says the last thing that he expected to hear from her.

"Tamir could not have killed him."

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><p>"Tamir could not have killed him."<p>

Ziva regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth. Abby turns away from her computer and glances over her shoulder at her, puzzled and apprehensive, then looks to Gibbs because she's unsure of how take this. Gibbs studies Ziva hard, and she hates to guess what he must be thinking. _Stockholm syndrome. Svengali._ He was thinking that she was so damaged that she sympathized with one of her tormentors. She was actually defending the same man who had hurt her, who had -

_Stop it,_ Ziva scolds herself, and she quickly brushes her necklace, her touchstone, with one hand. It's still there, which means that she's still _here_. Gibbs gave her this for Hanukkah last year. He would never think anything like that about her. He knows that she isn't defending Tamir. She adds, grateful for how calm she sounds, "Tamir is left-handed."

Gibbs tilts his head slightly to the side. "You're sure?" he asks. His voice is casual, but Ziva can see the thoughtful look in his blue eyes.

"Yes" is all she says, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with Gibbs.

There's a pause then, no more than a few seconds, and Ziva expects Gibbs to ask her how she's so sure that Tamir is left-handed. She waits for it, her muscles tense, because she does _not_ want to explain to him how she knows. But if Gibbs asks her, and she can't find a way to avoid the question...

But the moment passes, and the question never comes. Gibbs just nods and looks away from her, back to Abby's computer screen, and Ziva's throat aches when she realizes that he isn't going to press her. She swallows down the mixed emotions - gratitude, relief, and sadness too, because she knows that Eli would've questioned her if she had passed him information like this. He would've pumped her for more information. Her own father had never trusted her like Gibbs does.

"Doesn't matter," Gibbs says quietly, and Ziva can tell that he's talking to her, even though his eyes are still on Abby's computer. "He confessed to being a member of a terrorist cell. We still got enough to put him away."

Her lips start to smile at the thought of Tamir in a federal prison for the rest of his life. That's what she wants. She would never admit it - because her team would never look at her the same if they thought she was defending him, and because she hates herself for it - but deep down, she doesn't Tamir to die. But he isn't going to. He's going to go to prison for life, and soon this whole awful mess will be behind them.

That's when Abby adds, "Yeah, and besides, he's got a pretty ugly case of HIV. I'd guess that he doesn't have more than a few years left."

Ziva's pulse freezes in her chest, creating a loud, icy roar in her ears. Abby's words replay inside her head. Tamir is HIV positive. That means... but no, it isn't possible. Is it? Ducky told her that she was clear. He ran the test on her three times, when he examined her after she came back. She knows that much. She had submitted to it and followed all of Ducky's instructions, but she mind-checked out of the situation after he asked her to take her shirt off and still only remembers pieces of it. Ducky asking her to try to relax. His gentle hands carefully palpating each of her ribs, to make sure that they had all healed properly. All three of the tests coming back negative.

Her mouth is so dry, and she licks her lips nervously, trying to figure out what to say. She doesn't want to say anything at all, certainly not enough to imply what happened, especially not in front of Abby, who's so emotional and so naive about... certain things. But she _has_ to know.

Gibbs saves her. "You said he just contracted it recently, right, Abs?"

"That's right," Abby replies. She furiously types something on her keyboard. "Let me pull up that analysis I ran on his blood sample... here it is. He contracted it recently, probably within the last few months, but it's a really aggressive strain."

Ziva quickly puts one hand on Abby's lab table for balance, because she's so relieved that it feels like her legs might give out from under her. She hopes, vainly, that Gibbs and Abby don't hear her loud sigh, and for a second, it seems that they don't. But then Abby, without ever taking her eyes from her computer screen, gently lays her hand over the back of Ziva's on the table.

Just before she and Gibbs leave the lab, Ziva turns her hand over beneath Abby's and squeezes her fingers. Abby squeezes back, catches her eye, smiles, and mouths something. _It's okay._ Ziva repeats the words in her head on the way back up to the bullpen. It's what she's been trying to convince herself since she returned from Somalia, but now, they have a ring of pure truth to them. This time, she's not pretending. She's not lying to herself. She's okay.

Before Tamir goes to a federal prison for the rest of his life - how Ziva loves the thought - she decides that she has to see him again, one last time. She has to tell him something, something that Tamir will never realize on his own. But Ziva can't really blame him for that, because she didn't realize it herself until just now.

* * *

><p>Gibbs doesn't stare, of course, but he does notice when Abby puts her hand over Ziva's in the lab. He sees the effect that it has on Ziva, how she smiles at Abby and squeezes her fingers. He's seen it before - last October, after he sent Malachi out of interrogation, put his hand over Ziva's on the table, and whispered gently, "Don't bury it, Ziva." He didn't get her to open up then, not really, but he came close. Touching her helped; it had helped him before, too...<p>

The harsh glare off the sand dunes had practically blinded him when he turned his head and squinted into the desert sun. His team was struggling to keep up with him. Tony and McGee were weak and dehydrated, just strong enough to support themselves, but it was clear that if they had to carry Ziva much further across the hot, shifting sands, their legs would give out from under them. And there was no question of letting Ziva try to walk on her own yet. _You shoulda stepped in sooner_, Gibbs scolded himself, as he watched them limping towards him, like some strange, six-legged desert creature.

It always seemed to him that he had moved very slowly, like a man underwater, as he walked back to them and held out his arms. "Give her to me." He heard the words clearly but barely recognized his own voice, which was hoarse and scratchy from the dry desert air. And very slowly, as if they didn't quite understand the order, Ziva loosened her grip on their shoulders, and the guys handed her over to Gibbs. Even though supporting her had been too much for them, Gibbs could see in their faces how reluctant they were to let go of her.

He picked her up as gently as he could, but still she stiffened, and he saw sharp pain in her face at every movement. But what scared him the most was how terrifyingly light she was. As soon as he had her settled in his arms, the resistance went out of her; he felt her body relax, and she laid her head against his chest, exhausted. But even then, with her full weight against him, it was like he was holding nothing at all. By the time they reached the helicopter, she was nearly unconscious in his arms from pain and exhaustion.

They're taking the stairs back up to the bullpen when he realizes that Duck was right. Ziva might not want to talk, but she needs to. Gibbs has been going about this the wrong way_. You shoulda stepped in sooner_.

He takes a deep breath - because neither of them are affectionate people, and they don't usually do these things - before he takes Ziva's hand and pulls her into a corner. Duck told him that she needed to confront Tamir. But _confront_ is too loaded, so instead he asks her, very quietly, without letting go of her hand, if she wants to see Tamir. And even though Gibbs has never been surprised easily, he's startled by how quickly Ziva answers that yes, she does.


	9. The Truth

_This is really sappy. You've been warned._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<br>The Truth**

Tony stops short when he enters the bullpen and sees Ziva with Gibbs in the corner by the stairs. They're standing close together, and Ziva keeps her head down, her dark eyes never meeting his blue ones, but Tony can see Gibbs's lips moving, talking to her quietly, reassuring. It's a strange sight, especially when Gibbs touches her head with one hand, stroking her hair. She doesn't stiffen or pull away, like Tony half-expected her to. Her body actually relaxes at his touch. Gibbs has never touched Ziva like that before. Tony would bet money it. Abby, yes, but Ziva, never. But then, Ziva had never needed it before.

He doesn't mean to get close enough to hear what their boss is saying to her - he feels like he's intruding - but as he sits down behind his desk, he can't help but overhear snippets of their conversation.

"...have him brought back to interrogation. You can talk to to him there," Gibbs says. "...sure you're ready for this."

Maybe he does overreact when he realizes that Gibbs is about to let Ziva come face-to-face with Tamir again. But Tony doesn't want to see Ziva hurt - this whole mess has been hard enough on her already - and he can't stop thinking about the lies that Tamir told them yesterday, about how well-treated she had been in Somalia. Tamir was probably one of the men who had tortured her there, and now Gibbs wants to put them in a room together? He's never been so tempted to head-smack his boss, but instead, he just insists that if Ziva is going into interrogation with Tamir, then he's going to be in observation, so that he can have her back.

But Gibbs shakes his head and tells him no, _he's_ going to be in observation, in case anything happens, and Tony doesn't need to -

"Don't you even _think_," Tony interrupts angrily, and they're both surprised that he's interrupting Gibbs, but he goes on, his green eyes sparking as he glares at his boss, "that you're the only one on this team who cares about Ziva."

* * *

><p><em>Out of everyone in the world who could've found me, it had to be you.<em>

Ziva stares at Tamir through the mirror in observation for a long moment. If only it had been some other man - _any_ other man - from Saleem's camp who had resurfaced like this. A man who she could hate, purely _hate_, without any mixed feelings or reservations. With Tamir, everything was... complicated. He had raped her, but for almost three months, he had also been the only one to treat her with any decency, and even now, while she was trying so hard, she found it difficult to hate him. She had expected to be tortured after she was captured, and Saleem did not disappoint her, but Tamir's kindness had completely thrown her. She had never expected that.

_Tamir, I see you've lost weight. And I hear you've contracted HIV. You know, I never knew if Tamir was your first name or your last._

He was wearing a kiffeyeh around his neck when they found him yesterday, but as she stares at him now, she notices that it's gone. Before she can help it, Ziva feels sorry for him, wondering if his neck feels as empty as hers did in Somalia, after Saleem ripped off her Star of David necklace.

Then she remembers how Tamir used to brush her hair back whenever he brought her water, and that makes it even harder for her to hate him. Ziva quickly shoves the memory out of her mind and instead thinks about how Gibbs touched her hair in the bullpen a moment ago. She didn't feel uncomfortable with it, even though she usually pulls away from signs of affection and they were right there in bullpen where anyone could see them.

Before yesterday, the last time that she ever saw Tamir was on that night in Somalia - the worst night - when he raped her. The very next day, he was suddenly gone from Saleem's camp, and Ziva had wondered if Saleem had given him an assignment, sent him on some suicide mission that was doomed to fail, just like Eli had done to her. Perhaps her and Tamir's lives were equally meaningless to their bosses, both of them just as easy to throw away. Certainly Tamir was of little importance to Saleem to have been given the lowly task of treating her injuries.

Ziva had hated herself - absolutely _despised_ herself - for it, but even after Tamir raped her, she had missed him when he disappeared.

Her fingers trace the chain of her new necklace, then she straightens, leaves observation, and opens the door to interrogation. Tamir looks over when he hears the door open and starts in surprise when he sees Ziva. Ziva just takes a deep breath, steps inside, and closes the door behind her.

* * *

><p>Ziva and Tamir's conversation isn't long, and it's entirely in Arabic. Gibbs, Tony, and McGee all watch closely in observation, each of them ready to rush in if things get ugly. But things never do. Ziva seems strangely calm. They can't understand what she and Tamir saying, of course, but Gibbs guesses from their tones that she's asking him questions, he answers them, and then she says something that seems to surprise him.<p>

Ziva didn't object to the three of them being in observation, but Gibbs is sure that she's speaking to Tamir in Arabic because she doesn't want them to understand her words. She leaves interrogation quickly when she's done talking to Tamir, and before Gibbs or the guys can react to her sudden departure, the door to observation opens and Ziva steps inside.

"You okay, Ziver?" Gibbs asks, and Tony moves closer to her, his eyes flicking from her to Gibbs, then through the mirror at Tamir. He's torn between wanting to barge into interrogation and beat the crap out of that guy, or stay here and head-smack Gibbs for letting Ziva see him.

"I am fine," Ziva answers immediately, and as she says it, her hand reaches her for Star of David pendant again. She doesn't even realize it until she feels her fingertips against her skin. A small part of her minds orders her to stop it, that this nervous habit is a sign of weakness, but Ziva ignores it. Only her team is here - her family - and she understands now that she doesn't have to worry that they'll think less of her for it.

"That was just... hard," she adds quietly. She leans against the wall, suddenly exhausted. Their conversation wasn't long, but it seemed to drain all her energy. She's tired, but in a strange way, she feels at peace, too - something that she hasn't felt since before Somalia.

"I asked him why he lied yesterday," she goes on, before they can ask her what she said. "Why he told you and Tony that... nothing bad happened to me in Somalia. He said he lied to protect me."

In the silence, Tamir's words replay in her head. _I was trying to protect you. _Ziva looked him in the eye when he said it. And she believed him. She could see the regret in his eyes, in his face, and she knew that he was genuinely sorry for what he had done to her. And so he tried to make it right by lying.

But her team obviously doesn't believe him. McGee looks puzzled, Gibbs looks skeptic, and Tony just narrows his eyes and continues glaring at Tamir through the mirror. To them, Tamir lied to protect himself. If he told them the truth - told them how much he had really hurt Ziva - then even the best detectives would never be able to find all the pieces of Tamir after they got done tearing him limb from limb.

McGee asks, sounding genuinely confused, "How was that protecting _you_?"

"He said he lied because he didn't want you to know..." Ziva pauses for a second, uncertain of how to go on. Different possibilities flit through her mind, each one worse than the last. _He didn't want you to know the full extent of what the torture went to? That they called me a filthy Jew and beat me until I passed out? That they came to my cell in groups and held me down and took turns?_

But there are still some things that she'll never be able to say. Hastily, she finishes, "...he was afraid if you knew what really happened to me, you would not want to work with me anymore."

Tony exchanges an incredulous look with McGee - neither of them are sure how to take this - then looks back at Ziva and asks, "He really thinks that?"

Ziva just says, "Probably," even though she knows that the answer is yes. She understood that in his narrow mind, Tamir honestly believed that if the men in her life knew that she had been raped, then at best, they would shun her. At worst, they would blame her for it and kill her themselves. This, after all, was what happened in the culture that Tamir knew, and it was beyond him to imagine how attitudes might be different in America.

Gibbs and the guys are silent for a moment, until Tony asks, "What did you say to that?"

_This is it, Ziva, _she tells herself. _You can do this._ Telling them this last bit without crying is going to the hardest part. Somehow, it was actually easier to say it to Tamir. She takes a deep breath, and Gibbs looks from the mirror back to her. Ziva tries to focus on his calm gaze. His clear blue eyes are steady, never wavering.

"I told him..." she says slowly, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice, "the people I work with care about me, and nothing he said could ever change that."

She's grateful for the dim lighting in observation when she feels the tears in her eyes, and then Gibbs pulls her in against his chest and hugs her. Ziva doesn't resist, even though the guys are right there watching, even though she usually only accepts hugs from Abby. She leans heavily against Gibbs and lets him hold her, and he leans in and whispers in her ear, "I'm proud of you, Ziver."

That's when she stops trying to hold back her tears.

**FIN**

* * *

><p><em>I know that some people aren't going to be satisfied with this ending. You probably expected Ziva to talk more about Somalia. I did kinda set it up to go that way, but in the end, I just couldn't see Ziva saying more than what she says here.<em>

_To my readers, once again, many thanks for your encouragement on this little adventure. It was wonderful to be able to share this story with all of you. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts, especially if you any spot loose ends or have any questions!_

_Wishing you a very happy holiday season and peace and joy in 2012 ~ Rebecca_


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